Mrs. Dorset, examining her between lowered lids, met this with the immediate query: “Who told you that?”
“George–I saw him just now in the gardens.”
“Ah, is that George’s version? Poor George–he was in no state to remember what I told him. He had one of his worst attacks this morning, and I packed him off to see the doctor. Do you know if he found him?”
Lily, still lost in conjecture, made no reply, and Mrs. Dorset settled herself indolently in her seat. “He’ll wait to see him; he was horribly frightened about himself. It’s very bad for him to be worried, and whenever anything upsetting happens, it always brings on an attack.”
This time Lily felt sure that a cue was being pressed on her; but it was put forth with such startling suddenness, and with so incredible an air of ignoring what it led up to, that she could only falter out doubtfully: “Anything upsetting?”
“Yes–such as having you so conspicuously on his hands in the small hours. You know, my dear, you’re rather a big responsibility in such a scandalous place after midnight.”
At that–at the complete unexpectedness and the inconceivable audacity of it–Lily could not restrain the tribute of an astonished laugh.
“Well, really–considering it was you who burdened him with the responsibility!”
Mrs. Dorset took this with an exquisite mildness. “By not having the superhuman cleverness to discover you in that frightful rush for the train? Or the imagination to believe that you’d take it without us–you and he all alone–instead of waiting quietly in the station till we DID manage to meet you?”
Lily’s colour rose: it was growing clear to her that Bertha was pursuing an object, following a line she had marked out for herself. Only, with such a doom impending, why waste time in these childish efforts to avert it? The puerility of the attempt disarmed Lily’s indignation: did it not prove how horribly the poor creature was frightened?”
No; by our simply all keeping together at Nice,” she returned.
“Keeping together? When it was you who seized the first opportunity to rush off with the Duchess and her friends? My dear Lily, you are not a child to be led by the hand!”
“No–nor to be lectured, Bertha, really; if that’s what you are doing to me now.”
Mrs. Dorset smiled on her reproachfully. “Lecture you–I? Heaven forbid! I was merely trying to give you a friendly hint. But it’s usually the other way round, isn’t it? I’m expected to take hints, not to give them: I’ve positively lived on them all these last months.”
“Hints–from me to you?” Lily repeated.
“Oh, negative ones merely–what not to be and to do and to see. And I think I’ve taken them to admiration. Only, my dear, if you’ll let me say so, I didn’t understand that one of my negative duties was NOT to warn you when you carried your imprudence too far.”
A chill of fear passed over Miss Bart: a sense of remembered treachery that was like the gleam of a knife in the dusk. But compassion, in a moment, got the better of her instinctive recoil. What was this outpouring of senseless bitterness but the tracked creature’s attempt to cloud the medium through which it was fleeing? It was on Lily’s lips to exclaim: “You poor soul, don’t double and turn–come straight back to me, and we’ll find a way out!” But the words died under the impenetrable insolence of Bertha’s smile. Lily sat silent, taking the brunt of it quietly, letting it spend itself on her to the last drop of its accumulated falseness; then, without a word, she rose and went down to her cabin.
Miss Bart’s telegram caught Lawrence Selden at the door of his hotel; and having read it, he turned back to wait for Dorset. The message necessarily left large gaps for conjecture; but all that he had recently heard and seen made these but too easy to fill in. On the whole he was surprised; for though he had perceived that the situation contained all the elements of an explosion, he had often enough, in the range of his personal experience, seen just such combinations subside into harmlessness. Still, Dorset’s spasmodic temper, and his wife’s reckless disregard of appearances, gave the situation a peculiar insecurity; and it was less from the sense of any special relation to the case than from a purely professional zeal, that Selden resolved to guide the pair to safety. Whether, in the present instance, safety for either lay in repairing so damaged a tie, it was no business of his to consider: he had only, on general principles, to think of averting a scandal, and his desire to avert it was increased by his fear of its involving Miss Bart. There was nothing specific in this apprehension; he merely wished to spare her the embarrassment of being ever so remotely connected with the public washing of the Dorset linen.